Before the Fall
by InfinityGuardian
Summary: Fan-made prequel to the "Fallen Kingdom" animated series. Between hiding his family's heritage and watching over his six year old younger brother, vengeance had taken a low priority in the life of the man who would someday become the fabled "Herobrine". However, when the Ender Dragon awakens he is faced with a decision, and a chance at revenge, that'll change the world forever.
Part One: The Two Brothers

* * *

A loud thump echoes up from the lake. My shoulders tense, my mind analyzing the sound before I allow my body to slump back down. _Relax_ , my mind supplies, _it was too small to be human_. My mind is trying to reassure itself that nothing is wrong and, as usual, it isn't particularly working. Something is in the lake now, something that _probably_ shouldn't be in the lake right now, but that is currently not my problem and will remain not my problem until something - or should I say _someone_ \- actually ends up in the water.

I briefly resume watching the branches swaying well above my head and eventually close my eyes. Something about trees has always helped me to calm my nerves. Perhaps it's the swaying of the leaves, or the sturdy branches blocking out the mid afternoon sun and shading the mossy grass. Maybe it's just the prospect of sleeping out in the the cool mountain air. I stifle a sigh, visions of fire burning into the closed lids of my eyes, and exhale. The smell of smoke and fear dissipates in an instant. If only it was that simple.

" **NO! I HAD it!** I had it! I had it! **I had it!** Come back Mr. Fishy! I caught you fair is square! You can't leave now! **THAT'S NOT FAIR**!" After the shouting, there's an equally loud bang from the dock, likely from a mildly upset person kicking the innocent plywood structure in misplaced frustration. "Awww... Mr. Fishy." Another sound echoes up from the dock, this time a softer thump of something fleshy connecting with the wooden planks. "I- but I- I had it-I." Ugh, he's _whining_ now- _whining._ Sure it's ignorable, but that doesn't make it any less agitating. "I hate fishing. Why am I so bad at fishing? Why do we have to go fishing?!"

That question is rhetorical, and thus I feel no need to reply. I try to resume my attempt at napping, and silently hope he will return to his previous activities on the dock. Of course some higher power has it out for me because three seconds later he calls out- "Hey! Are you asleep?!" No, of course not child, I've merely been slumped forward for the past couple hours, book unceremonious dropped in my lap, and staring at that nice tuft of grass a few paces over. Truly, young one, your skills of observation are _exemplary._ I listen as pebbles sprays out across the beach, footsteps crunching in the gravel giving away the boy's movements. Great, he's approaching, now my attempt to nap is _officially_ over. I wait as the footsteps grows closer and closer. When he's merely an arm's length away, I open my eyes, snapping my head to the side just to startle the approaching child. "What? Done fishing so soon?" My mind registers a surprised shriek, and I can't suppress a grin. He deserves it for interrupting my nap after all. "It's only been a few hours."

"You were awake this whole time?!"

I laugh. "No of course not, but I'm a rather light sleeper." A truth. "And honestly, you're about as stealthy as a zombie who got itself stuck to a spider's web, entangled half of the valley's mob population in said spider web, and is still blundering around trying to catch something while attached to all of those mobs." A half truth. I'm ninety percent sure he's actually noisier than that.

He wrinkles his nose at the thought, shoulders falling dejectedly before rising once again in a fit of determination. "Hahaha, very funny. But I could sneak up on you if I wanted to." False, you lack the skills to attempt such an endeavor, and no one has successfully accomplished such a feat since... well, no one has ever accomplished that particular activity. "I just thought you were asleep, that's all." He pauses, likely remembering his original reason for approaching me. "Hey, you're not supposed to be asleep! You're supposed to be watching me!" I _was_ watching you, my mind argues though I dare not voice it. I am _always_ watching you.

"Well I _was_ enjoying your spectacular talent at fishing. At the rate you were going we should have tonight's dinner caught by." For extra effect I count out the time on my fingers. His scowl deepens with each finger I add. "Next year? Or actually that seems _a bit_ _too soon._ The summer after next perhaps? I believe that's still a bit unrealistic, but there's nothing wrong with a bit of hope here and there." He's down right sulking now, trying to conceal it by kicking at the grass beneath his feet and evading my gaze completely. Perhaps it's time to change the subject now. "After that I tried to catch up on a bit of light reading and, well, time just got away from me. I believe it's fair to assume from your expression that you still haven't caught anything?"

"No." He drags the word out like it's some vile, dastardly thing that I need to hunt down in the latest hours of the night, and sighs loudly. "I got _really_ close to getting one and then it just goes and falls off!" He groans, pulling at his hair in frustration. "I don't understand it! It's like fish hate me or something!" There's a pause, his eyes widening comically before lifting his gaze from an unremarkable patch of grass to stare at me inquisitively. "Do _you_ think fish hate me?"

It's an innocent question, but I have to stifle a laugh. "No, Steven, I don't think fish hate you." I don't think fish are smart enough to even _possess_ a sense of hatred but that's beside the point."Your inability to fish is much more likely to be due to the fact that you are-"

"As noisy as a hoard of mobs." He finishes, clearly unamused by the reuse of my earlier statement. "Like you said." Clever child.

"Precisely." I settle back down in the grass and gaze into the distance. The sun is starting to get low on the horizon, signifying our impending exit from the lake. "I know you want to catch a fish but we'd really best be going. We can come back tomorrow if you'd like though."

Steven blinks in surprise, not suspecting the offer to return to the lake so soon. "Really? I mean we don't have to-"

"You think I'm going to turn down an offer to nap away yet another afternoon anytime soon? _."_ I roll my eyes. "Now go get the fishing pole and we'll be on our way."

Steven grins, and with as much determination as a six year old can muster, races across the gravel beach on stubby little legs to gather up the fishing supplies. The fishing pole, currently astray on the dock, is still too large for a child, and carrying it around throws him _dreadfully_ off balance. He doesn't seem to mind this though, wrapping up the line and hoisting the large pole over his shoulder after a bit of a struggle. When he starts to lean backwards, the weight of the pole pulling him over the edge of the dock, it become all too obvious that I shouldn't have let the boy carry the object.

It takes approximately three seconds for me to stand, bound across the beach, jump the dock, and grab the scruff of his shirt before he can fall into the water. I drop him back on the dock as the adrenaline truly sets in, stifling fear and a certain protective instinct suddenly at the forefront of my attention. Steven drops onto the dock with a thud, seemingly confused about what had just happened or just going into shock. I notice, with a mix of agitation and (probably misplaced) fondness, that the stubborn brat was stupid enough to hold onto the fishing rod throughout the entire process. _Well, at least I won't have to fish it out of the water later,_ my mind supplies optimistically. "You know," I begin, trying to hide the sudden onslaught of emotions. "I don't think the fish will like you any more down there than they will up here."

The boy on the dock flinches slightly at the comment, clearly still in shock from the experience, but he manages to lift his head up to stare at me. It takes a few moments for his eyes to focus on me. "I was getting the fishing rod." He pauses, glancing at the object in his hand, and smiles. "See? I have fishing rod." Yup, that's defiantly the shock setting in.

I sigh. "Yes you still have the fishing rod. Though you apparently _also_ have the self-preservation skills of a _creeper."_ Steven doesn't seem to take this as an insult, still smiling at the way-too-big fishing rod in his hands. Actually, that might just be the shock too. I reach down and grab the tool, tugging to dislodge it from the younger boy's hand and swing it up over my shoulder. "You could have fallen in, you know? If I hadn't been here you could have-" Drowned. He could have fallen in and _drowned._ I frown and glance back at the water.

"But you _were here,_ and you _saved me._ Like you _always_ are. _"_ He replies, turning his attention back to me. He's smiling that stupid, naive smile of absolute trust, and it aggravates me because he's right and _he knows it_. Or he's just in shock. _Yeah,_ my mind decides, _lets just go with he's in shock._

"Yeah, well, I might not always be here, so you'd best be careful, alright?" I lean down and pick the boy up by his collar, watching him scramble to his feet and swat at my hand as soon as he's standing. "You're just lucky you didn't actually fall in. You'd have to listen to me complain about being soaking wet all the way home." I laugh, imagining how Mrs. Garnick would react upon our arrival at the house. "Tell you what, I'll ask the woodcutter for some scraps tomorrow, and we'll make you a fishing rod. Maybe this one you'll actually be able to carry without falling backward off the dock!"

The last comment sends the Steven into yet another fit of childish pouting. He drags his feet as I grab my book from under the tree, and continues to do so on the gravel road leading back to town. The silence, minus the sound of gravel being displaced, is slightly unnerving, so I start up another conversation. "So I'm guessing you _don't_ want to be a fisherman?"

"No, fishing is boring, and fish don't like me," His head hangs low, tracing the path beneath our feet. "I hate fishing." He wrinkles his nose. "And fish smell weird anyways."

Suppressing a laugh, I continue to walk while listening to the boy and nodding along at all the appropriate parts. Steven quickly proceeds to get dreadfully off course with the conversation as he lays out in intricate detail each and every reason he has to hate fishing before finally running out of breath. By this time we've already left the small lake far behind and the outline of the town has appeared in the distance. The noise of the passive mobs is muffled by the sound of our footsteps on the gravel.

"What book were you reading earlier?" Steven suddenly asks, swerving onto another topic. "It must have been pretty boring for you to fall asleep like that!"

"It was nothing really, just a bit about some of the other dimensions." I shrug. "I wouldn't say it was _particularly_ interesting, but I think it was the weather that _really_ did me in." I pause for a second, noticing that he's still staring at the book in my arm. "Aren't you starting school in the fall? Maybe you can try and read it when you're a bit older." A lie.

I glance down at the book, the cover still firmly clasped in my hand. It's not a particularly special book, not really, but I've been gathering information on foreign issues and varying topics from travelers for months now. Foreign politics isn't the sort of thing I want to share with Steven, and I don't think I have it in me to tell the boy about the things happening beyond the sheltered little life he lives here with his family in the valley. Besides, doing so would ruin what little childish ignorance the boy still has, and I wouldn't want to worry him. The last of my family's blood should remain happy, safe, and blissfully naive for as long as I can possibly give him. I watch the little blue eyed boy as he chatters on about some subject or another, oblivious to my darkening thoughts, and silently hope that he never learns of his- well, of _our-_ past.

"Yeah, I start school in a little while. Mom and dad keep telling me it's going to be lots of fun and that there's going to be lots of kids my age to be friends with," he says, trailing off at the end before glancing back at me. "Why don't you go to school anymore? Did you not like it?"

This particular question catches me off guard, and my step falter for a second. "Of course I liked school. It was very, interesting? Yes, that's the word for it. I had to quit when I was thirteen, but I finished off all of my studies on my own time."

"Really? You must have really liked it then." He kicks a few gravel pebbles with his foot, watching them scatter across the path in front of us. "When you were thirteen," he says, wide blue eyes clouding ever so slightly slightly. I can practically see the metaphorical "wheels" in his head turning. For a second he's silent. "Wasn't that the year our _actual_ parents died?" I try to conceal the way I flinch at the comment. Luckily for me, Steven doesn't seem to notice. He's not wrong anyways, not entirely, and to him I suppose that's all they ever really were. All they need to be to him were two soldiers that got caught up in the civil war that ravaged the land five years ago, and when the rebellion collapsed they- and, well, Steven was- _we were_ adopted.

The Garnick Family had taken Steven in with open arms a few weeks later, the quaint little village providing a perfect location to raise a child, and the tiny little blue eyed baby had been the ideal age for the couple. Steven wouldn't remember such things, as he was quite young at the time, but the older couple had only really wanted him. Not that I really blame them though, because _I_ certainly wouldn't have wanted to deal with _me_ if I were in their shoes. However, I had insisted on staying with them if they wanted to adopt the boy they were so besotted with.

"Yeah, that was the year," I reply, treating it as one would any casual subject. "We were still living in Stendahl when they passed away, and we moved out here a little later. I'm guessing that you don't remember the city very much, do you?"

"I... remember a castle?" He replies honestly, unsure exactly how to answer such a question. "It was really big and kind of... fancy? I think we might have gone there once when I was really little."

I chose to remain neutral about the comment, nodding absentmindedly in reply that the child had indeed once been to the castle, but not mentioning anything else about the subject. Silence is, for the most part, a way to evade the subject, and Steven catches on and immediately goes off in another direction. "If it was five years ago, then you must be pretty old!" He pauses, looking up at me with wonder. "How old _are_ you?"

Smiling weekly at the comment I reply, "Too old I'm afraid." I sigh, growing weary before turning towards him. "If I was thirteen and it's been five years, how old would I be?"

"Ummm... about... thirty? Maybe?" He pauses to ponder the answer, but he doesn't quite understand math yet. He's too caught up in the question to notice that I snort at the answer, looking away so he isn't offended. "Er..."

"Close. Why don't you ask your parents when we get home?" I reply, stopping to open the gate leading into to the small town.

The old iron hinges of the gate squeak indignantly at the sudden movement, but slowly move forward as the worn piece of wood opens. Like most of the old settlement, the gates and walls surrounding the hamlet are practically prehistoric; what little building there are, are mostly left over from the days when this had been a proud mining settlement at the edge of the mountains. Time hasn't been kind to the hamlet, and the buildings of wood and stone are constantly falling apart and in need of repairs. With nothing left to mine and few trees to chop down, there isn't much a person can do to earn a living around here anymore, and a lot of the residents have already left. The former children of the village are especially enthusiastic to leave, setting off for the large cities across the plains from here as soon as humanly possible. If I was like the others, I probably would have left long ago as well.

Steven follows after me as we enter the city, and I shut the gate behind him. I check to make sure the latch is locked before continuing on down the street. A few light posts flicker in the distance as the sun sinks lower on the horizon. In the summer, the days are so long that we can go outside the city for hours on end doing various chores or "adventures" as Steven had taken to calling them. It's days like this that remind me why I haven't already left. It sounds cheeky but I wouldn't mind spending my entire life like this. However, with everything happening right now I doubt - no, I know that's not going to happen.

I frown as we pass by the local tavern, quickly ushering Steven past the building. The child is staring with unguarded amazement at the crowd of saddled horses outside the old stone building. He's probably wondering where all of the tamed creatures came from. He continues to glance back at the building as I pull him away. "Hey, isn't that the _royal insignia_ on the saddles?" He asks, his eyes full of wonder when he turns his attention back to me. "I wonder what they're doing here. Do you think they came all the way from Skyreach Castle?"

There's a long silence. "I think that it's likely that they did," I keep my voice free of emotions, hiding my scowl as best I can, and continue to increase the pace until Steven practically has to run to keep up with me. Glowstone lanterns flicker to life on the light posts as the sun reaches the lowest point on the horizon, and we soon reach a small dirt road that splits off from the main path. "Hey, run up ahead, I need to check on something real quick."

Steven glances back at me in confusion before reluctantly nodding and running towards the humble, but rather cozy, house at the end of the path. I wait for the child to disappear into the wooden structure before turning around and trudging back down the gravel pathway. Someone calls my name in the distance, likely Steven's adoptive father wondering what in the world I'm doing, but I choose to ignore the noise and continue with my objective. I'll return to the house eventually, but at the moment there's a far more _pressing_ matter on my mind. With a flick of my hand, the small chest by the corner of the road opens to reveal a small pile of papers. I silently gather up the pile, shifting through a few documents before turning on my heals to head back towards the house. The mailbox closes with a quiet thud and I continue to shuffle through the various letters and notices on my trek back. My hand finally stops on a single letter with a dark green seal. I trace my hand over the insignia on the seal before pocketing the letter and opening the door to the house. _It appears my suspicions were correct after all. I'll have to apologize to Steven later._

I lock the door behind me and step into the entryway. Beyond the cozy little mud room, a small hallway leads into the old fashioned dining room, the kitchen and a flight of stairs leading to the upper floor just behind it. With the sun beneath the horizon, the heat emanating from the hearth in the kitchen is gratefully welcomed as I discard my coat and kick off my boots. I carefully fold up the piece of cloth, a dark blue jacket that had belonged to me by my late father, and place it in the chest beside the door. The garment is mostly useless, but I keep it out of respect for what sentimental value the object _should_ hold.

The wooden floor barely creaks beneath my weight as I approach the small family gathered around the table for dinner. Steven's adoptive parents had met late in life and were unable to conceive a child of their own. The fallout of the war had, as is the nature of things, left many children orphaned, and the couple had chosen to adopt the bright eyed baby within moments of laying eyes upon him. From birth, Steven has always had a sort of _natural charisma_ that simply draws people to him. It's a bit too early to tell if that's a good thing or not. Watching from the outside they look like a picturesque family, like something out of a storybook, and it almost feels wrong to disturb them. I slip into the room, going unnoticed by the three at the table, and knock on the wall to announce my presence.

The sound draws the attention of the family and they look up to acknowledge me. Steven smiles happily, sitting up higher in his still-a-bit-to-big-for-him chair. The older woman beside him smiles softly as well, the wrinkles on her forehead creasing to accommodate the slight emotion. Despite my somewhat _secluded_ personality, and the lack of actual emotional attachment between myself and Steven's adoptive parents, Mrs. Garnick has always shown kindness to me, and while it's a blow to my ego, I am, begrudgingly, glad that Steven will grow up in a secure household with loving parents. I know that something I wouldn't have been able to offer him.

Steven's adoptive father is much the same as the old woman. While I'm personally not particularly fond of the man or his political views, he loves Steven just as much as his wife does, and I'm not foolish enough to directly disrespect him in his own house. I am fully that I am still a guest in the couple's house, and not exactly a wanted one at that. The only reason they haven't thrown me out is simply that I don't really cause any trouble for them. Well, that and a certain troublesome child who decided that if I had to leave, he'd run away and follow after me. Needless to say, the couple was not amused and I'm allowed to stay for fear of that situation repeating itself.

I smile briefly at the thought before nodding respectful to Mr. Garnick. I slip into an open chair at the table. "What took you so long?" The older man asks as he cuts at his steak with a knife. He eyes me questioningly, silently asking for an answer without putting the command to words. "We already finished saying grace."

"Ah," I reply, laying the stack of papers on the table and passing them in Mr. Garnick's direction. "My apologies for being late, but I went to retrieve the mail so we wouldn't have to fetch it later. Perhaps I'm the only one, but I don't particularly fancy zombies breathing down my neck while going to retrieve it early in the morning." I add the last part as a joke, trying to ease the tension in the room before returning to the food in front of me. With a slight glance across the table to check if my answer pleased the family, I lift a small steak onto my plate alongside a few slices of bread. "And I don't participate in that part of dinner anyways."

Steven's adoptive father scowls at the response, gripping his silverware a bit tighter but not saying a word in retribution. It isn't exactly a secret that I've never worshiped the "heavenly creator", and no amount of reassuring words or disapproving looks will ever change my mind. Explaining this to Steven, however, is another matter entirely.

"You don't believe in Notch?" Blue eyes open in pure and unbidden surprise. The boy innocently tips his head to the side in confusion. "But I thought that every-"

"Not everyone believes the same things as you _little brother."_ I return my attention to the steak in front of me as I cut at the meat. "It doesn't mean that your beliefs are wrong or that their beliefs are right. You simply have different views. It's true that I don't believe in your god, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't exist, well, theoretically anyways. What you believe is something you'll have to decide when you're older." Well, I could have phrased that a bit better but it's enough to answer him for now. At least he hadn't asked _why_ I don't worship him, because that would have required a much more complex answer.

The answer seems to satisfy the adults, and Steven, while still looking somewhat confused by the reply, asks no further questions. They resume eating their meals, making small talk about various topics from the day. For the most part I choose to remain silent and listen to the conversation, nodding along at appropriate parts and speaking only if asked to. When dinner finishes up, Steven helps to clear the table with his surrogate mother. The child runs up and down the wooden hallway with dishes, taking up an exceptional enthusiasm in his work that the child somehow manages to apply to every function of his life. I watch for a few seconds, handing him dishes from the table, and stand to leave until I catch sight of Steven's adoptive father still sitting at the table with his arms crossed firmly and placed upon the table.

"The Royal Guard is in the city again," he comments after a long, drawn out silence. "That's twice they've been here in three months. Makes you wonder if they're up to something." He's eyeing me across the table with unconcealed suspicion. We've never quite gotten along particularly well, the old man having quickly realized that behind my usually sullen and withdrawn appearance is a particularly _calculative_ mind. Then again, who'd have expected anything less from the eldest son of the rebellion's leader? "Do you have any idea what they're doing within the city?" It's more of a demand for answers than a question this time, but I'm more than aware that I'm not actually required to supply him with information. He can't prove that I know anything. I've made sure of that.

I shrug, sitting back down and taking another sip from my water glass. "Who knows?" I sets the glass down and meets the old man's eyes. "Maybe it has something to do with the growing tension in the South? The drought in the East? Maybe they're just raising precautions now that the King's _precious little heir_ has been born? They _always_ seem to take extra precautions when that happens." I can't hide the bitterness in my voice at the mention of the newly born prince, and the old man frowns at all of these responses, obviously displeased that I somehow have access to all of this information despite my outlying location. "Or maybe they're just worried because _the dragon_ is waking up again."

The older man's head snaps up at the comment, his entire body going rigid. "How would you know that? It's still a bit early. The creature is still asleep, as it should be and has been since we killed it-"

"Twelve years ago. I was Steve's age at the time and I was fully aware of the events that followed the dragon awakening. That creature wakes up every twelve to fifteen years, starts to become a problem to national security, and is ultimately killed when the human kingdoms draft soldiers and join forces to take out the threat. That monster has been a plague on humanity for centuries." I narrow my eyes, suppressing the desire to roll them. "I'm not exactly hard to figure out."

There's a prolonged silence between us following the comment. I return to pilling the used eating utensils and cups into a pile, carefully handing off the stack of dishes to Steven when he re-enters the room.

"They said it was the last time- they said we killed it once and for all," he says as soon as Steven has left the room. His voice barely just above a whisper. He glances across the table towards my seat, but I manage to preoccupy myself with analyzing every inch of the room that isn't near the opposite side of the table. "How did you get a hold of this information? News travels slowly nowadays, especially with the resource shortages, and there's no information on the dragon in the local library-"

"I keep in contact with some old friends who keep me informed on the local happenings and what not." I keep myself busy by piling up the last of the dishes, and get up to hand them off to Steven when he appears by the door. I smile at the boy before handing off the pile, and wait until the footsteps are all the way to the kitchen before closing the door. I don't bother to turn back around. "Every twelve to fifteen years, huh? If they don manage to kill it once and for all this time, he'll be what age when the next draft comes up? Somewhere between eighteen and twenty-two?" I glance back at the doorway, imagining the child scampering around in the kitchen with a pile of dishes. "Children of revolutionists always take first priority on that list. You work for the local governor, do you not? So I'm sure you understand that perfectly."

The boy's surrogate father is finally outraged by that comment. He outright glares at me from across the table, his face contorting in a flurry of sharpened creases and wrinkles. "He's _my_ son now, don't you dare compare him to those- those damn _revolutionaries._ I couldn't care less about his heritage! He was barely an infant when those- when those _idiots_ tried to revolt against the crown! He had nothing to do with them!"

"And you honestly think _any of that_ matters to the ones running the draft? As long as records exist of his heritage, as long as his name bears any attachment to them, he will never truly be free of his lineage. He'll never _truly_ be your son." I pause to get my voice under control. Getting anger won't help, not right now. "It's not, however, too late for you to change that."

"What are you getting at? Adoption and birth records are stored in the _Skyreach Library,_ there's no way to tamper with them there-" The old man starts to reply, but wavers, unsure where exactly this conversation is heading.

I pause, somewhat enjoying the man's insecurity. "Tamper with them? The Imperial Library burned down _weeks_ ago."

There's another long pause as Mr. Garrick tries to process the information. He stares at me for several seconds, is face going through a range of emotions before he finds his voice again. "It couldn't have it-"

I just sighs and motions to the stack of mail beside the man. "It's all over the paper, look for yourself." Opening the paper in a hurry, the old man flips over the rolled up document and flattens it upon the table. Sure enough, the headlines are covered in detailed reports of the incident. "It was really quite unusual. They've got people all over the place trying to track down the source, but so far all of their searches have been unsuccessful." I glances up at the window, listening to the sounds of mobs gathering outside, and stubbornly refuse to look at the man across the table from me. "They found one lead though, a cloaked stranger that entered the library just before closing."

"A fire, huh." The man growls, clenching the paper and glaring at it as if his eyes could bore a hole into the perpetrator themselves. "It was the damn _Elemental,_ that's what it was. Just you wait, someday they'll find that freak and when they do!" He drops the paper back on the table. "They should have killed them when they had the chance."

"Killed who?" I ask after a long pause, keeping my voice steady and my eyes firmly on the mobs through the window. "You mean the Elemental? If my memory serves me correct, they were only a _child_ when their powers were discovered, and surely you would condemn the _execution of a child?"_

"Doesn't matter if they were a child at the time or not, any Elemental is dangerous." He continues to glare at the wrinkled paper on the table. "This one sure became a threat quick enough, now, didn't they? We fought a blasted war to get our hands on the last one, and they slipped right through our grasp."

My mind retorts immediately, my eyes blazing with a cold fury that I can barely keep out of my voice. "Your country didn't fight a _'war',_ they _invaded a neutral kingdom_ , a land _well_ beyond their own borders, and _annexed it by force_. Only after they took over, displaced the royal family, killed dozens of people for 'treason against the crown', and _demanded_ the location of the 'Elemental', did our countries fight. Yet they have the audacity to call it a 'civil war'." I snort. "As if we _ever_ considered ourselves among your Kingdom's citizens in the first place."

"And yet you lost," he finishes, a touch of finality in his voice. There's pride there, pride in a recent victory for his nation. "Quite badly. Actually, if _your_ people had simply stood down we wouldn't have needed nearly as many executions."

"What gave you the right to invade Stendahl? We posed no threat to your kingdom! We had a relatively small army, and no natural enemies or allies that could cause you any problems. Even the _villagers_ disapproved of your people's actions, for goodness sake! They refused to live within the walls of Skyreach after having witnessed such pointless violence and left to form their own town _as_ _far_ from your people as possible. For goodness sake, the _Great Master,_ who taught dozens of pupils throughout all of the varying kingdoms was so horrified by the decision to invade that he decided to _retire_ following the attack - _despite_ your _King's_ pleading."

"Villagers are practically useless anyways, and the so called 'Great Master' was in _your_ country at the time. Rumors have it that he was trying to teach the Elemental how to use its powers, considering that the old hermit was one of the few people to meet one before they disappeared." He pauses. "Besides, anyone willing to train a _demon_ is no friend to _this_ kingdom."

There's another long silence between the two of us as the old man crosses his arms and waits for a reply. On the wall, the clock ticks on and on, dragging out the silence with every second. The room remains silent. "I see. I'll make note of that. 'Demons not welcome in Skyreach'. However, I didn't bring this up to argue politics or with you. I brought this up to explain how you could use the fire to your advantage."

"My advantage?" He lifts and eyebrow."What do you mean?"

"The only remaining records that this adoption ever happened would have be the local records." I pause, waiting for him to catch on. "Which I know for a fact you have unlimited access to. If those records were to before city officials came to collect the towns adoption records..."

"I could pass him off as my child." The man finishes, still remarkably wary of me. He pauses to consider the plot, still appearing unsure whether or not he'd be able to go through with it. It wouldn't be particularly difficult to dispose of the records, as the local government building's security is extremely laid back, and he should have an access key to the room. He stops again, appearing to pinpointing what's making him uneasy about the idea, and turns to stare at me once again. "But what's in it for you? Even if I erased your record, if what you've said is true, your name is already on the list to face that dragon."

Across the room, I can't stifle a short burst of laughter. It's cold and dark in its own, wretched way, and I can't help but notice that Mr. Garnick stiffens slightly at the sound. Good, he ought to be afraid for coming to such a foolish conclusion. "You honestly think I don't know that? I've known what was coming for _months now_ , all I'm doing now is making preparations for _Steven."_ I stop laughing, and finally meet the eyes of the old man in the wooden chair. "I got my letter this evening, there was no way around it, not for me, but he-" I glance towards the doorway leading to the kitchen, before motioning to it for Mr. Garnick. "I want him out of this. That's what I want. That's what I plan to get out of this. I can't go through with this knowing that if something happens to me- that he'll-" I pause, trying to find the right words, but none come to mind.

The old man looks somewhat surprised by the comment, but he nods. "I guess that makes sense." He stops. "Why is it that you care so much about the boy? If your letter came today, shouldn't you be more worried about _that?"_ I'd have laughed at that if I wasn't trying so hard to remain silent. The man is still a fool, he doesn't see that I'm not _particularly_ worried about _my own life:_ I can _handle that_ , I can _handle_ a dragon, but the thought of leaving Steven alone to face that threat by himself down the road... well, _that_ horrifies me. "Never mind, I don't even want to know."

"Good, than this conversation is over?" I ask, shifting slightly on my feet, and feeling unusually anxious to leave the room. It's probably just my imagination, but the room seems to grow smaller and stuffier with every moment I stand here. "I'll go help with the dishes." I spin on the heels of my feet, lifting a hand up to open the door.

"Wait a moment." The hand rests on the handle but doesn't move any further.

"Yes?"

The old man at the table fidgets slightly, clasping his hands together atop the table as if pondering something before adding, "What happens if I, perhaps, _didn't_ remove the records? What would happen then?"

There's a long pause and my blood runs cold for a second. "Are you fond of creepers, Mr. Garnick?" I wait a couple moments more, my voice growing as cold as my heart feels at the thought of that record remaining. I have back up plans, I _always_ have back up plans when it comes to Steven, but this cuts too close to home to let slide. No, this requires a little something more. "Because I was exploring just the other day and I came across a rather _remarkable_ discovery. You see, there's _all sorts_ of caves under the city, little entrances in-between houses and such, and the mobs have, well, they've all taken quite a liking to the spaces under the city."

"What did you do?" The older man hisses back immediately, all of the earlier suspicion bleeding into his voice. "What are you getting at?"

"Me? Nothing. What could I possibly do?" I pause, an icy, feral grin stretching across my face, but with my back turned to the man at the table, no one can see. "But I went out exploring the other day, and I managed to stumble across a rather large creeper nest. Imagine my surprise when, low and behold, I realized it was located just a few blocks beneath the capitol building! What are the chances of that?"

The old man is frozen to the table, slowly piecing together my thinly veiled threat. When he can't find the words to reply, I simply keep going, finding a great deal of joy in taunting him. "That could cause quite a problem, you know? If something or well, someone, were to startle them, the entire building would likely collapse into the tunnels. I imagine that you'd rather avoid having _that_ happen. _I_ most certainly would, but what about _you?"_

I wait for a reply, ready to go farther, willing to make more threats- "Alright, I'll do it, the records will be gone by tomorrow evening." He sighs, and leans forward in the chair in defeat. "You've been out with Steven for the last three days, when did you find time to go _'exploring'?"_

"Oh, you know, nothing like an early morning walk to clear the senses." I try to hide the sarcasm in my voice, but give up towards the end. With a sigh, I shrug and add, "Besides, sleep is for the dead, and I'd rather be up and about. Now, speaking of being up and about, I'll go see if those two need help in the kitchen. My hand turns the doorknob before quickly opening it and entering the hallway. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Hmm?" Mr. Garnick asks, gazing up at me with clouded eyes. He's clearly still in a bit of shock from the previous conversation, and the guilt of the "crime" (if one could call it that) he would be committing is clearly hanging over his head. "Uh, yes, right, I'll see you in the morning."

I nod before closing the door and turning back towards the kitchen. Casting one last glance towards the room, I pull out the letter from my pocket and break the seal. With the seal broken, the letter folds out from under it, the folds of paper and written information dropping neatly from the palm of my hand. There's quite a bit of information concealed within the letter, but I skim over most if it while searching for any sort of a date.

The floor shifts underneath me as I come to a halt in the middle of the deserted hallway. "That's early," I mutter to myself, re-reading part of the letter for a second time before sliding the letter back into the envelope. "That's quite a bit earlier than I was expecting." I pause, glancing back at the letter before jamming it into my pocket. "I'll _definitely_ have to tell him tonight."

Beyond the small, dimly lit hallway, is the doorway to the old, well-loved kitchen of the house that always smells faintly of garden flowers and last night's dinner. I use to come into this room from time to time when I'd first arrived here, and read beneath the skylight. It was in this room where I'd learned to at least tolerate, if not somewhat enjoy, the company of Mrs. Garnick. She was never one for frequent conversation, the few times we have ever expressed words being few and far between, as she seems to be a rather reclusive person, but when she started to notice my presence in her kitchen all those years ago, she had responded by always leaving a little snack out underneath the skylight.

It had surprised me at first, as I hadn't exactly expected to find a glass of milk and a bit of pumpkin pie resting on the floor beside me that afternoon. We never really spoke about it, but I had eventually come to the conclusion that this was her way of showing affection. She also, unlike her husband, bore no bitterness against me when Steven began to grow far closer to me than to either of the parents. When she had come across me reading to the little toddler one afternoon, she had simply brought two cookies with her instead of the usual one.

I open the kitchen door, taking care so that the door doesn't collide with the wall, and enter the room. Mrs. Garnick looks up from her position at the water cauldron, a wooden bowl in her hands. "Finally come to help out?" She asks.

Steven, who is standing beside her on a half slab and is still concentrated on drying a second bowl with an old rag, immediately looks over at me. "You're back! What took you so long?" He smiles, completely oblivious to the conversation that had occurred just down the hall.

"Yes, he sure did take his time," Mrs. Garnick replies. Her voice doesn't give anything away, but from the way her gaze shifts from the dish in hand to myself, she's obviously curious about what had occurred in the other room. The woman always seems to know when something is even slightly off. If i didn't know better, I'd assume she had a sixth sense. "This is the last dish, but I suppose you can wipe down the counter top?" She hands the last dish off to a Steven, who happily dries the final bowl before tossing a rag in my direction.

I catch the strip of wool with ease and starts wiping off the first counter-top, listening as the old woman wishes Steven good night and sends him off to bed. The child pauses at the door-frame, likely to glance back at us, before his footsteps disappear down the hallway.

"Dinner was excellent tonight. Your cooking is defiantly among the best in the town," I say, trying to strike up a conversation. It's hard to ignore someone when you can feel their eyes watching you from a distance. "Did someone teach you? Your mother? A friend? Did you just teach yourself?" I try to distract her.

"You were in there for a rather long time," she comments quietly, her voice somewhat comforting, as if noticing my somewhat unusual behavior and trying to sympathize. "I realize that you're not fond of him, and I realize that this must be hard on you. I can't judge you for not getting along with my husband, or for having different beliefs from us." She pauses to rearrange a pot of flowers on the window-sill. "You weren't raised like we were, or like Steven is even. You came from the city, from parents who were very different." She falters for a moment, clearly still searching for answers and trying to find the right words. "And I know that you wouldn't spend a second more than you have to with my husband, meaning that something has happened, hasn't it?"

I wipe off the last counter-top, before turning around to meet her worried face. "Will you look after Steven for me?" I finally asks, her expression finally driving me to admit the problem. She doesn't understand, not everything, but she understands that I care for Steven. I knows that she cares for him as well, and for now that has to be enough. "I think I'm- I'm going to be away for a while. I'm not sure how long I'll be away, but I think it's safe to say that it may be a while."

"But where are you going?" She asks, growing more and more alarmed by the notion. Her brow furrows slightly, and her hand tightens on the flower pot in her hands. "If Mr. Garnick put you up to this I'll-"

"No, nothing like that," I blurt out, trying to suppress a laugh. I saw her angry once, about half a year ago when the couple had gotten into an argument about something or another. I'll never forget the sight of the usually bold Mr. Garnick cowering behind the kitchen counter-top while Mrs. Garnick paced the room, cooking pan in one hand, a _massive_ stone sword in the other. For such a kind old lady, she was as fierce as a _blaze_ when angered. "I promise, your husband had nothing to do with it. I'm leaving because of _personal_ reasons, and I don't know when I'll be back. Can I trust you to look after him while I'm gone?" It's clear from her eyes that she understands the weight of what I'm asking of her.

She nods immediately. "Of course I will, I'll always look after him. He's my son." She pauses. "I mean he'll always be your brother and your parents will always be his birth parents but-"

"No, _no_ it's perfectly fine. I'd rather he have a supportive, secure family to grow up in, and you two do fill that role in his life rather nicely."

"Is that a compliment I hear?" She asks with a slight laugh, smiling at me. "Well, not quite a compliment, but I'll take what I can get. You'd best come back though, I'm worried about Steven's apparent career inspirations." I shoot her a confused glance. The boy is _six,_ what could he _possibly_ be doing to worry her? "I keep catching him glancing down the old mine-shafts beneath the city. I'm worried that if this keeps up he'll grow up and become a _miner."_

"You're worried about him becoming a _miner?"_ I ask curiously, lifting an eyebrow in confusion. "I mean, besides it being a fairly dangerous profession-" Suddenly, my mind catches up. "Oh, wait, I now understand your concerns." A frown immediately ensnares my lips as the various circumstances that being a miner could create begin to appear in his mind: Steven being hunted down by mobs, Steven falling into lava, Steven being crushed by a cave in, Steven being pinned down by a rock while lave slowly drips down the rock, mobs slowly circling in the distance- I can't help but shudder. "Don't worry, as long as I'm around, no brother of mine will go into such a dangerous profession, and that's a promise." I smile reassuringly at the women, and jokingly add, "And may my soul be damned to eternal torment in the Nether if I were to break such a promise."

Mrs. Garnick looks at me in amusement. "As long as you're there to watch over him, I'm sure he'll grow up just fine," she replies with another smile, tucking away the last few dishes in the cabinets. "You'd best be off to bed though, you know how Steven is, he's always been terribly afraid of the dark." She sighs. "And I'm somewhat worried about his night terrors with you going away and all. I'd hoped they'd go away on their own, but they only seem to be getting worse. The only time that poor child can get any sleep anymore is when you're in the room."

I frown at the comment, glancing back over at the old woman. "I'm sure he'll be fine. He'll learn how to deal with it over time, and it'll go away eventually. I'm sure of it."

The small family had come to a rather disturbing discovery a few years after they had adopted Steven, the discovery coming in the form of a bloodcurdling scream coming from the boy's bedroom in the early hours of the morning. After several nights in a row, the couple had finally taken the boy to the doctor. They'd been told that the boy was suffering from extreme "night terrors" and for a couple of weeks they had tried, unsuccessfully, to track down the source of the problem.

At the end of two weeks, with both the couple and doctor exhausted from being constantly awoken to the screams of the child, they'd given up hope on finding the cause of the disruption. With their hope of finding a cure gone, they'd finally let me comfort the boy, and I'd fallen asleep in a chair beside his bed. The doctor had been astounded upon realizing that the boy had slept soundly throughout the whole night, and with a few more nights of testing, had come to the conclusion that being within a certain proximity of me _somehow_ prevents these night terrors. The couple hadn't been particularly happy with the diagnosis, but were more than happy to let me move into the boy's room for the sake of their sleep schedule and general sanity.

The doctor had marked it off to my presence having a "calming effect" on Steven, because I was someone he trusted to protect him. However, I've always almost _questioned_ that theory. The memories from my own childhood may be rather fuzzy, but I seem to remember my parents suffering from near constant nightmares, or perhaps night terrors, as well. Perhaps it's a family thing? However, that still wouldn't explain why the night terrors suddenly disappeared around me. I sigh and shakes my head. I simply wanted them to stop plaguing the child, they did, and I have no particular desire to look any further into it than that.

"I'll head off to bed," I say and place the rag back on the counter. "Sleep well, I'll see you in the morning." Mrs. Garnick nods,returning to her cleaning as I trek off to bed.

I try to suppress a yawn as I climb the staircase, finally noticing just how heavy my legs feel from the walk earlier. Sure I'd managed to get in a decent nap today, but I haven't really slept for the past few nights. I've been too busy gathering the needed information before my letter arrived. I open the last door, the one at the very end of the upstairs hallway, and close it behind me.

The bedroom is small, almost too small for two occupants considering it was only built to accommodate a single person, but we've managed to make it work. _Well, we sort of make it work,_ I muse to myself as I stride over a pile of toys currently scattered across the entryway. The family had been a bit _too_ enthusiastic about the whole "parenting" thing in my opinion, and had taken to buying or building the boy an _entire chest_ of toys. I hadn't paid much attention to the toys at first, being a bit preoccupied with adjusting to the new living situation, but when Steven was old enough to use them, some of the toys had quickly become a problem.

A little after his fourth birthday, Steven had taken to running around the house, little wooden sword in hand, and had pronounced himself an "adventurer". Originally it had been amusing, but had quickly become worrisome as the child was running around with a could-be-weapon. What if he fell and poked his eye out? Surely this posed a serious safety risk? Or maybe I simply hadn't been pleased with the kids plan to go off and become an "adventurer" when he was older (that wasn't going to happen, and I was going to make sure of that). Perhaps I _had_ overreacted a bit in taking the sword one night and burning it with the firewood, but it had to be done at some point, right? Someone had to stop this foolish behavior from persisting any longer.

Steven, upon noticing that the toy had been gone for several days, had simply moved on and choose to carry one of the stuffed animals around with him instead. It's not like the boy needed a weapon anyways, even a pretend one. He shouldn't even be thinking about fighting yet- or soon- or _ever._ I can't help but eye the little wooden pickaxe lying on the floor beside my foot. If what Mrs. Garnick said is true, then I should probably dispose of _that_ as well.

The sound of someone moving around in the room immediately draws my attention from the object. "Ah, it's you," Steven comments, standing a few feet away with a confused expression. He rubs at his eyes, and stifles a yawn. "What took you so long? Did mom want something?" The child is holding his favorite toy, a stuffed mob in the shape of an enderman, securely in his arms. The blob of black wool (which is honestly all you can distinguish of the object anymore, as the child had carried it around for so long that it's literally falling apart by the seams) is tucked tightly against the boy's chest, one of its arm splayed outward and the head tipped to the side at a bizarre angle from being squeezed so tightly. One of its eyes appear to have been torn off at some point.

"Hmm? Oh, uh... yes, you could say we needed to discuss some things," I decide to hold off on the conversation of my leaving for a bit longer. "Nothing to worry about, not for you anyways."

Steven looks up at me, apparently not entirely convinced by my comment but replies, "Okay." He pauses, and glances down at the stuffed mob in his hands before looking back up at me. He smiles. "Can you tell me a bed time story?"

I jump slightly, not quite prepared for that request. "Uh, sure?" Steven scrambles back into bed, getting under the covers with enderman in tow. The old furniture creaks under my weight as I sit down at the foot of the bed. "What sort of a story do you want?" I ask, scanning the nearest book shelf for a suitable title.

"I don't want you to _read_ me a story," Steven answers with a laugh. "I want you to _tell_ me one. You have to make it up." He smiles innocently at me, the enderman turned at such an angle that it seems to be glaring straight at me. "It doesn't have to be all that good or anything-"

"Fine I'll make up a story." I snap, shifting awkwardly on the bed and folding my hands together like I'd seen Mrs. Garnick do when _she_ starts to tell a story. Now, how does one start a story? "Well, once upon a time there was a- there was a man..."

"Ooh! Descriptive."

"But he was no ordinary man, you see, because this man he was... he was umm... he was very... _special...?"_

"Fascinating."

I snap my head to the side at the comment, frustrated by the side commentary. "If you want me to tell you a story I need you to be quiet, understood?" He nods, though I doubt he's actually going to do as I said. "So this man, he was special because he could do things. Strange things. Things that other people couldn't do." Steven perks up slightly, clutching the plush enderman in his arms. "Things that maybe- things that maybe people shouldn't be _able_ to do." I pause at the comment, my mind processing exactly where this story is coming from and internally _laughing_ at the irony. "So he was very special, and he was very... er- lonely."

"Only he wasn't lonely," Steven cuts in, a twinkle in his eye. "Because he has a little brother, right? A little brother just like me." He smiles at that, and I have to rearrange the story to accommodate the new addition.

"Uh- sure. Yes he- he was very lonely except he had a little brother-"

"-Like me," Steven cuts in for a second time.

"Yes, like you," I reply, growing agitated with all the interruptions. "But are you telling the story or am I telling it? Because if you want me to be quiet you can take over anytime-" He shakes his head, burrowing back beneath the blankets until only the top of his head and his eyes are above the wool sheet. Somehow, the enderman's head still manages to stay above the sheet and continues to glare at me. I swear to whatever is out there, that thing is _glaring_ at me. "Where were we? Oh yeah. So, once upon a time there was a very special young man who had remarkable powers, and he had a little brother who he cared for above all others. However, this young man, well, he couldn't stay with his brother because of-" My mind grasps for answers, running through all possible replies before helpfully supplying, "because of a dragon." _Oh, I wonder where that one came from,_ my mind adds sarcastically. The letter in my pocket seems to grow heavier at the thought, and I find myself subconsciously grasping at it.

"He couldn't stay with his younger brother because he had to protect him." From all of the dark things that would seek to hurt him in the world. From the mobs that would seek to eat him. From the boy's own ambitions that would no doubt lead to his death. From the corrupt kingdom they lived under. From the people who destroyed their home land and slaughtered so many of their people. From the man who sent their parents to the pyre, and would have had burned them as well if they'd been found. From the elder brother himself- "From the dragon," I finish, though it doesn't sound nearly as reassuring as I'd hoped it would. Well, that too I suppose. There always has to be a _dragon_ hanging around to make matters just a little bit worse.

I pause, planning out the story from there, and trying to recall any adventure story I can to assist me. "So he traveled across the land, and he met all sorts of new people. People who would help him defeat the mighty dragon." I glance over at Steven, to see how I'm doing, and am pleased to find the boy watching with ornate fascination. "And so, all of the people converge to take down the dragon, and working together they all make it to the dragons horrifying realm to begin their fight!"

"And the fight, well, it goes on for many days and many nights." Steven is nodding along, holding onto every word. "The dragon's minions are dangerous, and the dragon itself is down near unbeatable. Just as the humans are on their last leg, as they make their final stance against the mighty beast, one of the humans charges at the creature and fires their final arrow straight through the creature's heart! However, despite the brave human's actions, the beast doesn't die but rather continues to attack!" Much to my amusement, Steven outright gasps, clearly waiting for what happens next. "You see, the dragon is a magical beast and the only way it can ever truly be defeated is not by sword or even by arrow. There is only thing that can truly kill it, only one thing that can truly kill a dragon: _magic."_

"What?" Steven whispers in amazement, wide eyed and gaping at me. "But why magic?"

"Who knows?" I reply with a shrug, "However the young man with special powers, he realizes this, and throws himself at the dragon in a last ditch attempt to save everyone's life. So he summons every inch of his special power, every drop of magical blood in his body, and he fires it right through the hole in the dragon's heart-" I hold off after that, watching Steven lean forward in the bed out of anticipation. "And he kills it."

The room falls silent after that, the child marveling at the victory, probably imagining it happening in his head and what not while I rejoice in a successfully told bedtime story. While it's not likely to become my favorite past time or anything, I appear to be at least somewhat good at it which _could_ be useful information in the future.

"And what happens then?" Steven asks, finally overcoming the shock of the dragon's defeat. "What happens next?"

"Umm well... he... he- uh. Well he meets with all of the greater powers of course, because he has just brought down a god among men where so many other before him have failed, and he speaks with them."

"If the dragon was a god, and he killed him, does that make him a god too?"

I pause at the comment, not completely sure how to answer that. Would that make him a god? A dragon is as good as a god I suppose, especially to a human, and to bring one down- "I suppose so," I reply honestly. "Because after bringing down a dragon, how can he not be?"

All of a sudden the room becomes deathly silent, and I can't help but wonder if I've said something wrong. I turn to look at Steven who is looking uncharacteristically crestfallen all of a sudden. When I try to ask whats wrong he cuts me off, adding, "But what about the little brother? Can they still be brothers if one of them is a god?"

"Well of course they are," I reply. "As long as the same blood still runs through their veins, they'll always be brothers. Even if one of them is no longer human."

There's another pause before Steven asks, "Do gods _have_ blood?"

"Well now you're getting off topic," I reply back, grinding my teeth slightly at the constant interruptions. "And, well, that doesn't matter to this story so who knows? Now, the young man is meeting with all of the great and powerful forces of the universe and they all ask him what he wants in return for slaying the great dragon. They offer him anything he could ever want: all of the riches he could ever want, the power to have any king kneeling at his feet," I pause to stare at my hands, the two limbs still interlocked and resting in my lap. "Even revenge against those who had wronged him and his family so long ago. However, the young man said that the only thing he wanted was to return home and watch over his brother until the end of his days, and so the powerful forces bent the edges of reality and he was allowed to return home."

"So that he could spend the rest of his days watching over his little brother?" Steven asks curiously, wide eyes drooping slightly. "So that he could go home - to his real home - and spend the rest of his life making the world a better place for his brother and all of the world's inhabitants?"

"Yes, he returned home so he could spend the rest of his life babysitting his little brother and all of the earths inhabitants for the rest of his existence," I reply and roll my eyes, watching as Steven's eyes start to close. "So they all lived happily ever after with their godly super babysitter that has to show up and save everyone's skins every other day. Now get some sleep, alright?" The boy nods in reply, snuggling back down among the blankets and resting his head on the pillow.

I stand up and manage to walk back towards my bed, but freeze when Steven speaks again, "You're leaving, aren't you? Like the man in the story?" Stiff as a stone pillar, I turn to stare at the boy who is still lying with in his bed. He doesn't even bother to open his eyes.

"Yeah," I manage to reply. "Pretty soon."

"I know," he replies quietly, but still doesn't open his eyes or lift his head from the pillow. "But you'll come back, right? Like the man from the story? I mean I don't really care much about the whole 'god thing', but you'll- you _will_ come back, won't you?"

"Of course I will," I reply, and I can't decide if that's a truth or a lie.

"You promise," he asks. "You'll come back no matter what?"

"I promise," I say. I hope that's a truth, I vehemently hope that's a truth. "I'll come back, no matter what happens. I promise."

* * *

 **A/N: And I'm back with a new story! Sorry about the length, that was a bit longer than I expected it to be. I'm currently shooting for around 10'000-15'000 words for each of the parts (either 3 or 4 "parts"), and maybe 2'000 to 5'000 words for the epilogue. This is also probably the most boring part of the story because it's entirely focused on setting up the rest of the plot. That's _literally_ a summary of what you just read. The second part should see to the introduction of most of the remaining cast (with a few exceptions), and should really get the story rolling! **

**The reason this exists is mostly a) I needed something to work on for Camp Nanowrimo that _isn't_ the book I'm writing... though some progress has been made there (surprsingly!) as well b) I still really love the Minecraft fandom, universe, and characters and am greatly saddened by the lack of new stories in said fandom c) I have not had my quota for chibi!Steve met in like 2 years d)The Undertale one-shot fic I'm _also_ writing has been slightly more elusive and more difficult for me to write**

 **((Also, please take the time to take note of a few very important things:))**

 **1\. This is set in the _Fallen Kingdom_ universe (with all credits for the animations going to its respective creators), but is actually (for the most part) set _before_ the events of the first animation. The first part of this story actually takes place approximately two and a half years before the events of Fallen Kingdom... and thus _even further_ before all the _later_ animations and plot lines. I'd say the story ends around the tail end of the second animation, but uses maps/characters/plot points from the third. This entire story will ALSO likely be screwed over when the 4th animation comes out and wrecks some big plot point that I used, but I'm perfectly alright with that.**

 **2\. With that in mind, please _also_ note that this story is going to be extremely prone to time skips, which may vary from a few days to longer than a decade.**

 **3\. I am _purposefully_ not naming the protagonist/character POV in this story. Sorry. I'm pretty sure most people have already figured out who the elder brother is, because I'm not being _particularly_ subtle about it (in the slightest... all the little puns... hehehe... I'm a terrible person... like you don't even understand how many things I managed to fit into this), but if you haven't figured it out yet don't worry about it ;) all will be revealed eventually...**

 **4\. This is a TRAGEDY. Please take not of this because I really don't fancy people trying to kill me with sharp objects because they didn't take note of this nice tab. This is set in the _Fallen Kingdom Universe_ (and two... other... universes which I have incorporated to run mostly simultaneously), and considering _who_ the story is based around... well (spoiler alert), clearly some serious sh*t goes down between now and 2 and a half years from now. So, please take note of the categories and prepare for future heartbreak. Sorry, but I'm not actually sorry.**

 **5\. Fallen Kingdom characters will be making cameos throughout the story. Several have already been mentioned (*nudge nudge wink wink*)**

 **6\. I will be constantly alluding to things throughout the story. This will probably include the actual Fallen Kingdom animation, other animations, other stories on this website, other fandoms, and varying other topics that may pop up at random throughout the story. Many of these will be blink and you'll miss it so if you want to catch them all you have to watch carefully.**

 **Also, as a note on some of the characters and things in the story in case anyone missed them/needs a reminder:**

 **A. Mr. Garnick and Mrs. Garnick are Steven's adoptive parents. The POV character DOES NOT view them as their parents or even as their adoptive parents. Mr. Garnick isn't really a "bad dude" so much as he has a couple of seriously ingrained biases and views that clash with the POV character's views and thus the POV character views the man in a generally more negative light. He does have his reasons as to why he has these biases and that will be explored later. Mrs. Garnick on the other hand has some problems communicating with people. She likely suffers from some degrees of social anxiety and is quite reclusive and introverted. The couple do share similar views on political views and are generally more "old time-y" and "traditional".**

 **B. POV character is either agnostic of an atheist (to the religious beliefs of the hamlet the story is currently is set in). Will DEFINITIVELY be agnostic by the end of the story because reasons.**

 **C. Skyreach Castle - THE Fallen Kingdom castle and surrounding settlement. The hamlet Steven and POV character are living in is on the fringes of their general "territory".**

 **D. Stendahl - Was once a large city to the South-East, was invaded by the inhabitants of Skyreach roughly five years ago who attempted to annex the kingdom. POV and Steven are originally from here.**

 **((End of warnings/notes))**

 **Well, sorry about the long, bulky warnings. I shouldn't have to do that for any of the remaining parts (hopefully... so long as everyone does their part and reads them). So, how did I do? Who is our mysterious protagonist? What challenges will he have to face to return home to his little brother? What really happened five years ago? How in the world is Fallen Kingdom tied into all of this? Who is the mysterious "Elemental" and what do they have to do with this story? Will the readers or my editor attempt to kill me first? (Current poll says my editor *glances at phone*) Whats with all the stupid question marks? I don't know Infinity what _is_ with all the stupid question marks? I'm not entirely sure other me but we'll find out in: ****Three Shot - Part 2: Call to Arms**

 **Current Word Count: 12'803**


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